fire
burns in the barrel
in the back yard.
the way my father did it,
when he
raked leaves.
there was a look in his eyes,
standing
by the flames,
dipping his hands across
the yellowed
heat.
some childhood
memory
that would come back
to him.
sometimes
there would
be tears on his cheeks.
was it lost love,
or just ashes and tinder
from
burning leaves?
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